Sometimes I think I could have made a fortune as a fake right-winger

Friday

Jun 13, 2014 at 6:11 PMJun 13, 2014 at 6:57 PM

The best time I ever had in my ill-fated career as a talk-radio host in the 1990s was the day I pretended to have converted to the Religious Right and spouted a lot of the conservative rhetoric that goes with it.

I began with a claim that I had experienced a sudden epiphany of sorts and was now of the view that tolerance of errant religious views — or of any departure from a literal reading of Scripture – was sinful, no matter what the First Amendment says about religious freedom. “Why should we allow the expression of religious opinions we know to be wrong?” I said. “The Constitution of the United States does not supercede the word of God.”

It was a bravura performance, if I say so myself, and even a few regular callers of the liberal persuasion seemed convinced of my sincerity before I fessed up at the end.

For three hours, I stayed in character and deftly parried the challenges I got from doubters on the phone. One caller, an old acquaintance I hadn’t encountered in many years, tearfully claimed that she had been praying for me and was thrilled that I had suddenly been saved from perdition.

The whole shtick was a sort of distant variation on Orson Wells’ legendary “War of the Worlds,” a fake radio report on an invasion of Earth by Martians.

Anyway, I sometimes think of that Religious-Right ruse of mine when I check my meager bank balance. The thought crosses my mind that there are dozens of people out there making tons of money by spewing right-wing paranoia on the radio — and not all them, I suspect, really believe the crap they’re peddling. There’s a fortune to be made by frightening gullible old people, and perhaps I should have endeavored to get my share of that loot.

But, no! I’m in my 70s now, and it’s probably way too late to start a new career. Besides, I’d have to either change my name or resort to that conversion meme I used 20 years ago. And I’d have to be careful to maintain the charade everywhere I went, for fear of being found out.

The ultimate deterrent, of course, is that the whole thing would be too dishonest. I couldn’t live with myself, even if it made me a rich man.

The best time I ever had in my ill-fated career as a talk-radio host in the 1990s was the day I pretended to have converted to the Religious Right and spouted a lot of the conservative rhetoric that goes with it.

I began with a claim that I had experienced a sudden epiphany of sorts and was now of the view that tolerance of errant religious views — or of any departure from a literal reading of Scripture – was sinful, no matter what the First Amendment says about religious freedom. “Why should we allow the expression of religious opinions we know to be wrong?” I said. “The Constitution of the United States does not supercede the word of God.”

It was a bravura performance, if I say so myself, and even a few regular callers of the liberal persuasion seemed convinced of my sincerity before I fessed up at the end.

For three hours, I stayed in character and deftly parried the challenges I got from doubters on the phone. One caller, an old acquaintance I hadn’t encountered in many years, tearfully claimed that she had been praying for me and was thrilled that I had suddenly been saved from perdition.

The whole shtick was a sort of distant variation on Orson Wells’ legendary “War of the Worlds,” a fake radio report on an invasion of Earth by Martians.

Anyway, I sometimes think of that Religious-Right ruse of mine when I check my meager bank balance. The thought crosses my mind that there are dozens of people out there making tons of money by spewing right-wing paranoia on the radio — and not all them, I suspect, really believe the crap they’re peddling. There’s a fortune to be made by frightening gullible old people, and perhaps I should have endeavored to get my share of that loot.

But, no! I’m in my 70s now, and it’s probably way too late to start a new career. Besides, I’d have to either change my name or resort to that conversion meme I used 20 years ago. And I’d have to be careful to maintain the charade everywhere I went, for fear of being found out.

The ultimate deterrent, of course, is that the whole thing would be too dishonest. I couldn’t live with myself, even if it made me a rich man.